


Darker Side of the Cut Off Killer

by CelticGHardy



Category: The Following
Genre: M/M, Trigger Warnings, followers, kink meme fill, kink_following, not just for the above, others will be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7130942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticGHardy/pseuds/CelticGHardy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At one point, Joe received a package, one that his Friends called a gift. He thought it was useless, until he realized that a stress ball in the form he was given would have wonderful usage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One, Parts One and Two

**Author's Note:**

> Let me just say this, I am evil. At least partially. I started this one, maybe two years ago. Adding onto it sporadically. Getting to some of the points that I wanted to push. However, I don't know how many people go over to the kink meme. [Original place, btw.](http://kink-following.livejournal.com/754.html?thread=165106#t165106) So, this is a story that a few Following fans would enjoy.
> 
> That and, maybe you guys can help in making me update more. Comments mean that people read it and like it enough to take the time to say something. And remind me that the story's here and I should work on it.
> 
> I switch between POVs. Expect little notes on where that happens.
> 
> Trigger warnings (so far for what's written): physical torture, psychological torture, sexual humiliation, non consensual sexual acts (one is rape, but there are others). Those are the umbrella terms because things fall under those. If not, expect a warning at the beginning of a chapter.

_ Joe's POV, Four months after the events, first month in captivity. _

Their idea was ill-planned.

It was nighttime among the little Lang 'family' that inhabited the house and trailer on the property. Joe, Daryl to the citizens of the small community, was looking over Mandy's work, commenting and critiquing, guiding her to a better answer for her homework. Judy was cooking in the kitchen, the smell of pork wafting in the air. The beard he had grown had gone passed itching and he actually tolerated it. Necessary when the world believed he was dead and he needed to play the role of a veteran that had come home to be next to his 'sister' and her daughter. He was settled, as well as he could be, with a woman that loved the ideas he presented. Not the ones he taught to the group, but the idea of salvation and the power of love defeating evil. Highly inaccurate, but some believed in them and he wasn't about to contradict the woman the was housing and feeding him.

Being nighttime, Judy was the one that answer, believing that it might be someone that wanted an 'appointment' with her. Instead, she turned to Joe, the person outside shadowed. “Daryl, they say they're for you,” she said, concern radiating off of her.

Mandy was confused, and he calmed the two of them. “Oh, it's fine,” he said, putting on the accent he had been working on to blend in better, “Just stay inside and wait for me to come back in.” He stood up and walked out the door. When Joe saw that it was three Friends that had helped him get down to Arkansas, he dropped his poor accent. “Well, what are you doing down here? Is there a problem?”

Another, more eager, Friend answered, “We don't think, we like to think of it as a gift.”

“A gift?” he repeated, cautious. Gifts could go both ways. They could be a joyous thing or it could be something that needed to be returned, quickly. The apparent leader of the group glared back at the other two, but then went over to a van that was park up to his little place. The excited ones clambered into the back and dragged something out. 

It was a person, male, given the flat chest and bulge between the legs. Jeans, solid color T-shirt under a leather jacket. Handcuffs on his wrists and duct tape holding the ankles. With a bag over his head, Joe couldn't tell exactly who it was. There was a battle, keeping him up and stopping him from struggling to get away. One got a sharp nod and tore away the bag in a try for dramatic flourish. He saw a cloth gag had been forced in his mouth to keep him from shouting out.

It didn't take long for Joe to recognize their 'gift' to him, although if they thought having Agent Weston would appease him, they were wrong. A frown formed on his face at the problems that were bound to arise. “Inside, now,” he ordered, his anger forming.

The two switched their hold so they could carry him in. The other also walked in and Joe closed the door behind them. He pointed them to a chair and he was dropped down on it. “Are you insane?” he growled.

“Joe-”

“Are you insane?” he again repeated, “What leeched into your minds that I would enjoy this? Do you have any idea what you've done?” None of them talked back, at least he still held that level of control, even with the ridiculous outfit and beard. “When do I expect the FBI to come barreling down here? When do I expect Ryan Hardy to show up in all his glory to rescue his little protege?” None would, could, give him an answer. That was his biggest concern now. “Find out the situation. Plan for contingencies if need be. Now, get out of my sight.”

The three left, muttering apologies as they hurried out. One of the Followers looked back at Weston but he glared her off. After hearing the van drive off, he walked over to the main house again. “What was that about?” Judy asked, lifting up off of the couch.

“Just a couple of friends giving me an unexpected package,” he said, not bothering to hide his fading anger that was turning into a grumpy state. “Is, is dinner done yet? I admit, I'm getting a bit peckish.” That led Judy to declare dinner was done and they ate pork chops with applesauce, green beans and instant potatoes with gravy. After finishing what he could stomach, Joe thanked her and told them he was turning in early.

He wasn't surprised that the man had tried moving around, getting close to unlocking his handcuffs with a pen that had been left out and disassembled for a piece to stick in the key hole. Joe plucked it out of his hand with resistance.

_The fools._ He pulled out a drawer before pulling out a butcher's knife. Crude, but efficient at killing. If he was to end this quickly, it would be simply to push in and pull out for maximum blood letting. His 'gift' was eying him and the knife carefully. _Why did they assume that I would want this? The trouble that I have gone to creating a perfect hiding spot, where no one would think to find me._ It would be simple. _I could simply get rid of him now. Quick kill, get rid of the evidence. I shouldn't even use the knife, it would create too much of a mess._ Joe gripped it tightly, the idea somehow sane yet uneasy. It wasn't his preferred method, not being as satisfying.

His hand became idle, playing out subconscious thoughts. The knife pressed fully against his cheek, the sharp edge almost starting to cut through skin and cloth. Instead, it trailed down, Joe applying pressure after the gag to see a line of blood well up in its path down to the edge of his t-shirt. “So simple,” he muttered. It dropped down further, hovering over a non-lethal area. Something that the group had taught the new recruits, to prepare them for delivering, so they could feel the pressure and resistance the human body put up. There was even more with the shirt, but the knife ripped it easily to get to the fleshy center beneath.

His 'gift' groaned, shifting away in effort to get the knife out. Joe pulled out in response. “All right, fine,” he rumbled, grabbing his neck and starting to choke him. “You want this to go quickly? You want to die rapidly?” Weston started trying to fight out of it, but he just tightened his grip. There was no air going into his lungs, which was when his legs came up to push Joe back. He crashed into cabinets and the chair fell over, leaving the agent on the floor. It took Joe a minute to stand up, wincing at the pain he was expecting. “Oh, what am I going to do with you?”

Checking, Judy and Mandy hadn't noticed the commotion that had been created during their small fight. Joe had forgotten about having victims that fought back. Of course, he hadn't killed anyone since he had gotten down to Arkansas. Too conspicuous and he could not have a threat around here. The idea was making him hungry to take the life of the little agent. But, he couldn't. Risk. It.

His anger formed again and he snapped up the knife again before dragging Mike flat on the floor so he could straddle him. “Do you have any idea how long it has been for me?” he inquired, lifting up his shirt. Weston mutely complained, trying to throw him off. He grabbed his hair and used it to slam his head down twice. The first time barely dazed him, it was the second that made him groan and lay still. “Four months, little Agent Weston. Four months since I've taken a life. Four months dealing with the backwards citizens in this town. A woman that makes her living providing certain services to other men, a daughter that may not even know who her father is.” The knife slid into another fleshy area, pulling out so he could watch the blood mix with its clotting cousin near it. “I am bored. I am going mad being down here.”

He sat back, staring down at the little agent. Maybe that was why they had brought him down. He was agitated, dangerously close to a breaking point where he might just travel to a different state and find someone he could lure and murder then come back to Judy and Mandy. Instead, they had brought him the agent that had been so resistant to Roderick and Charlie, the one that had thrown his plans off a couple of times. Someone to take his frustrations out on, provided he didn't finish him off the very night he got him.

“Oh, oh they were smart,” he muttered, putting the knife back on the little table and standing up. They were smart in bringing him someone to use as a 'punching' bag, but they had forgotten he had nowhere to place someone, to keep them. It was something he would have to remedy. There was some money to buy things that he could use to keep him contained.

First he would have to get through the night.

Getting up, Joe left him lying on the floor while washing off the knife, making sure it was completely clean before leaving it to dry. Then, he walked over to the small bathroom where he had a small amount of first aid. There was more over in Judy's house, which was normal as she took care of him if he ended up hurting himself doing housework. He shuffled around, looking for a crap cloth and rubbing alcohol to clean the wounds before bandaging him. His new target would have to be kept relatively healthy if he needed to use it multiple times.

Wetting the cloth with the alcohol, he knelt instead of sitting on top of the agent. Using a knee to keep him in place, he started washing the cuts, oblivious to the moaning and small fight it brought out. After that was done, he took gauze and placed it over, taping it in place. He shouldn't have to worry about infection. Joe would be taking care to make sure it was clean and able to heal with a nice scar.

After a quick cleanup, it was getting late for the man. He shuffled through options on what to do with the agent. There would be a comprehensive shopping list the next day, to properly outfit himself so he could have a long term victim. It was rather unprecedented with him. At most, the college girls lasted three days. The feeding, caring and not killing too soon of an annoying agent was not something he ever thought he would imagine. Unless it was Ryan.

“Oh, it is unfortunate I cannot just leave you like this,” he said, “It would make things much simpler.” Instead, he dragged the agent to the 'bedroom' of the trailer. The queen bed was almost too much for the room, but they were able to get a decent frame that raise sufficiently high to store totes under. There was only one at the moment, and an idea started to grow, but it would have to be constructed carefully. For tonight, he snatched up a spare skeleton key and undid one side of the handcuffs. There was a bit of fight left, but not enough to free him. He slid the handcuff through the outer support beam and redid the opposite side. Weston was now lying on the floor half below the bed with his hands hanging loosely.

“Now, are you going to try anything in the night?” he questioned, thinking he should have his knife by him. Instead, he pulled out a tack from a box on the little dresser. “I don't like being awoken during the night. So, if you were to try getting out of your restraints, I would not be adverse to taking pins and forcing them in your neck, leaving them in there until morning, so you can feel them when you breathe. Understand?” Weston glared at him, which he took as a reason to demonstrate. The yellow push pin sat fully on the right side, moving minutely. “I ask again, do you understand?” He barely nodded, trying to not move the pin. “Good.” Joe stood up and went about his nighttime rituals.

~-~-~

Sunlight was streaming through the blinds, waking Joe up from a peaceful sleep. He hadn't had to get up during the night to enforce his threat. Standing up, he checked quickly and found nothing wrong, except an agent that was clumsily asleep under the bed. Showering and changing, he walked over to Judy's for a Saturday breakfast of pancakes and sausage. After, Judy announced she was going shopping. Mandy joined in. Joe thought for a few minutes before agreeing, thinking about taking from his stash for the items he would need now.

The trip into town took a few hours. Behind their backs, Joe brought a few things to keep _him_ healthy and clean. Extra food. While they were scouring for new clothes, he sneaked out and headed over to a dark store that was in the strip mall next to the store they were shopping in. There were two people that looked up, then went back to their pleasure searching. It took him a couple of minutes to find what he was looking for. It was something he had heard about a while ago. Some of the group were wild in their preferences. Bondage tape would stick to itself, not to skin, perfect for long term use. A couple of more picks for gags and other 'tools' and he had the purchases paid before getting back just as they were done.

The other parts would have to wait until he had access to a truck. He knew a couple of men would help him out, transporting and building the second part. For now, the tape and the gags would have to suffice to keep him from escaping. Hiding his purchases from questions, everything was in a solid bag, an advantage to the reusable ones that he was introduced to at the house. He rushed his items in the house, seeing Weston sitting up. The pin wasn't in his neck, but he wasn't concerned about that.

He went back to help Judy and Mandy, following instructions on where to put items and separate who got what. After that, Judy dealt with calls as Mandy found something on the TV. Joe joined her for a little bit, but when the show changed to something he wasn't fond of, he took the time to go back to his trailer. Weston was awake, sitting up awkwardly that didn't allow him to free his hands or rip off the tape. He had made the pin disappear, but he knew that there weren't a lot of places for him to hide it. Also, he had managed to get the gag off.

“Oh goody, you're talkative,” he droned. Although, it did bring up something he would have to do sooner or later. Again, he cursed them, as the tasks would be tedious and hard to cover. First would be getting him in the bathroom. He grabbed the tape and carefully stayed out of range.

While planning, the agent glared up in anger. “What?”

“Thinking about whether or not to knock you out,” he snipped. “I wish you were weaker.”

He snorted, “Yeah, because that's the only way you ever win is if the victim's a girl or off guard.” He back-handed him, causing the agent to hit his mattress before sitting back up. “I'm just stating the obvious.” Joe growled, annoyed at the young man. His left hand, not occupied, caught his throat and started contracting. He sputtered for a few seconds before the man let go and he coughed until recovering. He used that to quickly switch from the handcuffs to wrapping the tape around several times, making sure it was tight that he wouldn't be able to wiggle out. 

“First, the toilet,” he muttered, dragging Weston to the small room. “Can you manage, or are you going to need help in the area?”

“I wouldn't need help if you didn't tape my hands back together,” he sniped. Trying to maneuver, he couldn't get a grip on his zipper or button to undo them. After a minute, Joe knocked his hands aside and undid the zipper and the button, pushing down jeans and underwear at the same time and forcing him to sit on the toilet. Weston was embarrassed, but his body won out after a couple of minutes. After finishing, he was dragged out to the kitchenette, sat down while Joe grabbed a few things out of the refrigerator. A bottle of water was placed in front of him, a straw sticking out.

He took a few cautious sips while watching him heat up a microwave meal. After it was done cooking, he wrestled with a spoon, figuring out how to get around feeding himself. It was slow, but he managed to eat a good chunk of it before declaring defeat at getting everything. He then finished the water and since nothing else was given to him, just had to wait for the next step.

Joe had no anger to purge at the moment, and instead tied the man to the chair with a belt to ensure that he couldn't escape before sitting on the small couch and turning on the TV. Settling it on History, the best thing that he could stand at the moment, the two began to watch a small documentary that was on.

“Who did you kill?”

Joe looked over in surprise. Weston wanted to talk to him. Hasn't he learned yet? “Well, I haven't killed anyone in a few months,” he glossed over.

It didn't work. “We found body parts, compared them to DNA from the warehouse,” he stated, “You had to have killed someone, and we would have known if it was the guy that Claire described. Who did you kill?”

He didn't want to reveal it yet. There weren't be any fun conversation if he gave up everything within the first couple of weeks. Joe had planned on a classic red ball gag, but the worker had said that the wiffle ball was better for long term usage, something about being able to breath without as many problems. Grabbing it, he walked up behind him and forced Weston's jaw open to place it before clipping it in the back, tightening it so it wouldn't fall out on accident. “If I tell you now, we won't have anything to talk about later,” he said, sitting back down.

The night and the following morning went the same way. Instead of having the day to himself, Joe had to help out a couple of friends of Judy's. He made sure to warn Weston of any escape attempts with push pins again, not that he would be able to get far. The tape was holding up well and with both women away, no one could hear him. After helping Judy's friends, he hoped he could get some help with his next project.

Indeed, the pair needed his help in getting lumber and drywall for extending their house. A trip to the lumber yard, a perfect coincidence for him. He had the idea planned out on a couple of scraps of paper, and consulting over what it would be used for (he told them storage of heavy objects, it wasn't that far from the truth), he was able to get his items along with theirs. Along with heavier hinges than they suggested, he also went behind them to get a latch and a padlock for the outside. Those were paid before them, so he could hide all of them.

Their unloading didn't take long. They weren't going to start that day. Both had work later in the night. They did, however, build 'Daryl's' side project before driving him back with it. He thanked them and they him before placing the box in the small first room and taking off to get ready for work.

It still wasn't finished. There were a couple of modifications that he wanted before it was ready, and they wouldn't have made sense to the builders, so he had to perform them at home. He took a drill that was always on hand and switched to the largest bit before drilling a few holes in the side where someone's head should go. He would have liked one large hole, covered in mesh, instead of something that looked out of a cartoon, but this is what he would have to make due with. After a few minutes, he had holes in strategic places, enough for a steady flow of air. He placed the latch and remembered the placement of the hinges to do the latch so that it lined up. 

Finished, with thoughts about what he could add later, he dragged it to the bedroom. Weston was awake and sitting in the awkward position, eying the new item with distrust and fear. It took him a few seconds to place why it would get that exact response other than the normal reasons until he remembered how he had Agent Parker murdered. “Ah,” he sounded. It wasn't going to be used yet. It was for storage. Perhaps also a punishment if he annoys him again. Which meant it would be soon.

Repeating what he did yesterday, the young man was indulged in some of Judy's leftovers, eating himself as the girls were going to be busy that night. Judy had a personal call and Mandy was to be working without his interference. The night went without a repeat inquiry to his survival. He wondered if the agent had started working on a theory about his survival, but was waiting until he could get more information. Well, he wouldn't be talking about that for a while. They weren't at that point in their 'relationship' yet.

Night was troublesome as he anticipated. The agent did not like the idea of being placed in the box. He kicked out, his hands being useless in the situation. Joe wasn't getting as angry as he could have been, knowing that it would be as satisfying to hear the results of getting him in the box. After two punches to his chest and another to the jaw, he had him in pain and distracted enough to force in. It was just longer than the frame of his bed to accommodate his captive. Once all parts were in, he slammed it shut and placed the latch so he could lock. There was no movement as he pushed it under the bed, to make sure that people wouldn't get curious at the item that was out.

The reaction was delayed a few minutes, but as Joe was getting ready for bed, he heard pounding and muffled yelling from the item. It was a bit louder than he would have liked, but the gag hadn't been in placed back in as it hadn't been needed. He checked over at the house and didn't see anyone walking closer due to the noise. Mandy possibly was listening to music or watching something. If they did that all the time, and if no man noticed when they came out, it would work well for him. Settled down, there was still the occasional bump, but it was ignorable. If he was woken up, he could always do something to make him stop.


	2. Chapter Two - Parts three and four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings - torture, beginnings of panic attack/flashback,

Mike's POV

Mike was afraid.

He had gone from walking home one night to being brought to Joe fucking Carroll, who was supposed to be dead. The man had developed a new identity, complete with dressing down from the attire at the house and a beard to cover his face. While he was berating his subordinates for their 'gift-giving', he mentally reviewed the case files and tried to remember how long he kept victims. Some had been killed directly in their homes, but he remembered one or two that had been kidnapped and held somewhere before death. It was only a couple of days, though.

When he had to go over for dinner, Mike started looking around for something to get him out of the handcuffs. Everything was put out of the way and hard to get to with his hands out of sight. It took him five minutes to just get over to a line of drawers. Then, the first one was silverware, which he would need, just not at the moment. He needed a pin, paper clip, something thin that he could use on the lever inside the box and open the cuffs. Mike managed to find a pen that could be unscrewed to get at parts. That took ten minutes before getting a piece that fit and he could maneuver. 

Then, Carroll came back. His escape was thwarted. Then, he had a knife in his hand. Unlike Charlie's swift stabbing, the knife was going slowly, and the pain was longer than the simple flash that he received the night in the shipyard. He complained through the gag when the man started toying with him. If he was going to kill him, then he could do it quickly so he wouldn't have to suffer with his lectures. Carroll started choking him in retaliation, a repeat of the last time the two had encountered. He fought, kicking him down and toppling at the same time. Then, the murderer was on top of him and Mike thought he would be dead soon, the knife going in again and the man getting angrier. Instead, he had a revelation. Cleaning the wounds and then dragging him to the bedroom, he was trapped by Joe, with threats if he tried escaping and managed to wake him. The pin was just an annoyance, but it was one that kept moving when moving when he breathed deeply.

The next day was better. Joe wasn't there a good chunk of the day due to a shopping trip. He couldn't get himself freed from the handcuffs or the tape, but he didn't have to put up with being by him for long periods of time. Going through plans of either escape while managing to get the gag off took up much of the time. Then, Joe came home, the two ended up watching something on TV. He asked about the body they found, which had him gagged with a bondage thing. He knew the name, but was more focused on breathing with it.

Same as the next day, although this time had another threat and more pins placed in areas he couldn't reach. The wounds he had before were starting to hurt and tinge whenever he moved. Mike wondered if Carroll even remembered he had done that. Futile attempts to weaken and stretch the tape failed before the man came home. He heard drilling and wondered what the man was doing before the new item was dragged into the bedroom.

It was a coffin. 

At least, that's what it looked like to him. A coffin similar to the one that they buried Debra in alive and where she ran out of air. It kept on his mind when Joe brought him back out to the other area to eat and watch TV. Neither talked, which was fine. Mike was still going over the box in the bedroom. He was terrified of it. It's silly. A good number of nightmares after the end of the case featured a reversal of roles, Debra and Ryan talking to him while he was buried alive. He always woke up when the dream version started fading like Debra had.

Desperate to get off the topic, he started thinking about Ryan. He wondered if the man knew what was going on. Gone for only a couple of days now, no one might notice until he didn't show up for another OPR hearing, or if he didn't come into the office to talk with his boss over paperwork. There may be a couple of people that might notice he was missing. Not Ryan. The man hadn't contacted him, he always had to go out to find him. He thought that maybe with Joe's 'death' that the man would have moved on. He thought that Ryan might have started cleaning up, started working towards getting his life back on track. Instead, the man was getting worse. Or maybe this was how he reacted the first time, one night stands and dancing at bars before spiraling into the drunken daze that he showed up with on the first day that Joe escaped. The man probably would be the last to know, only finding out if anyone went to ask him about what he knew about his last movements.

Would Ryan even care? He thought he had the beginnings of a friendship or at least a bond at the end of the case, built upon his loyalty and work into actually talking to the man outside of case topics. Instead, he received drunken calls and nothing else. He thought about the change the man went when Mike was attacked. Apparently, it didn't last. He thought, he really would like to think that maybe the man would care and try to find out what happened. Not being constricted by the FBI would give him an advantage to run leads that were preposterous and far out. There could be something still there. Maybe it took a spark.

All there was for the moment were maybes and they weren't the funnest maybes.

Night came again and Joe was taking him back to the bedroom. He only started paying attention when the man started lifting him to get him in the box. Mike did not want to be in that box. His attempt at using his hands was weak, and instead, he started trying to kick him, injure him before he could manage to get him in. It didn't work, Joe delivering three hits to pain and push him in before shutting the lid and locking. 

It was a few seconds for his senses to kick in. “LET ME OUT!” he screamed, kicking and hitting the top of the box. It wasn't buckling, breaking or doing anything that he could use in his favor. He kept at it by switching to the sides, repeating the same words in a vain hope that he could go back to the previous arrangement. Being gagged and chained under the bed was better than this. “LET ME THE FUCK OUT YOU GODDAMN ASSHOLE!”

He had nightmares about this. The manuscript that Joe left specified Debra, but he always thought about switching places. What would have happened if he had been the one wandering the halls and captured by the men? Would they have stayed with the original plan, grabbed Debra later on, or would they used him? How important was the manuscript? Would Joe have cared about the deviation?

His attacks and fighting had caused a decrease in the breathing air. The holes were letting in just enough oxygen to keep him alive. Fatigued, he flagged, dropping his arms. There wasn't even enough to keep the shouts up without problems in getting the proper amount of oxygen. Mike just realized through his haze that Joe was probably asleep, the lights out in the trailer and the man calmly breathing above him. “Fuck,” he cracked, ignoring the wetness starting to develop in his eyes. 

-

The outside was too bright when Carroll opened the top of the box. Mike had to keep his eyes closed for a minute before trying to adjust to the light coming from the windows. “Well, you held up well for the first night,” he commented, looking at the marks that had been left. There were small streaks of blood where his hands had caught on splinters and rough areas. There wasn't much damage to the interior, to his disappointment. The man had chosen strong, thick wood to build with. “I'll have to do something about that.” He didn't explain what that would entail, instead pulling him up. The morning routine was displaced with the cleaning of his hands, which also reminded the man about the knife wounds from the other day. Those were cleaned and wrapped again. He applied a little pressure to bring up a reaction, but that didn't do much to draw out anything. Mike was glad when the man grew a little angry over the inaction.

Things stayed the same for two weeks. They rarely talked outside of needs and necessary conversation. Carroll wasn't interested in Mike. He wasn't in his desired victim range, which were mostly college aged females. The only deviations to his victimology were the guards (necessary to get out), Olivia (outlived her usefulness), Charlie (this was unconfirmed, but there was a story that the man offered himself up because he had failed when they kidnapped him) and Daniel Monroe (liability). There was the time he had him in the office, but that was nothing more than a distraction. He wouldn't kill him in front of Ryan, not if he still wanted to live. Ryan might, would, kill the man if he killed Mike. He thought he did after they found Debra's body.

The beginning of the third week saw a spike in anger and boredom, as several men visited while Mandy was in school. Carroll was stuck with Mike for company. He had him on the floor near his feet, to make sure that the women that lived in the house never saw him if they walked by. Two of his fingers were hooked in his shirt collar and he was sipping beer to take an invisible edge off. The TV wasn't providing much in the way of entertainment. Some channels finally got bored with the constant coverage of his first series of murders and his later chapters. Passing by the news channel block flashed a familiar face. He stopped.

“The FBI is now reporting that the disappearance of Agent Michael Weston is in fact a possible kidnapping,” the anchor, a popular female for the national news network, explained, “The agent, who was brought in due to his position in the BAU and his knowledge on the subject, did not show up for a scheduled work meeting. Thoroughly checking his house found no trace of a struggle. It instead showed up when agents started piecing together what they believed was the man's last night in the region. Finding his last stop at a bar, two separate cameras managed to capture what appeared to be three individuals throwing the man into the back of a utility van. None of the kidnappers were identified yet and authorities are hesitant to classify this as work of those left behind by the roundup of Joe Carroll Followers. A call to Ryan Hardy received no comment on the possible involvement of Joe Carroll in response to the man's disappearance.”

Mike figured that. Carroll thought that was out of character for the man. “Really, nothing to comment,” he mused, “His new best friend has been kidnapped by a few of my Friends and he has no comment on it.”

“He's saving it for when he sees you again,” he quipped halfheartedly.

The man, instead of getting angry at the retort, laughed a bit. “He would. The man likes trying to get the last word over me.” He got up and took care of his bottle before bringing out another and a knife. Taking a large gulp out of the item, he set it down on the table and pushed the young man on his back so he could again straddle him. “I warn you, try to fight me and my hand might just slip into something fatal.” 

Mike exhaled before the gag was forced between his teeth. The man unfortunately never forgot it, something that would be useful for getting attention when the man was hurting him. Then, Carroll began. His arms were the first targets, slight flicks and slashes decorating his available skin below the sleeve. It stopped at his hands. He then lifted up his shirt to gain access to his chest. It was surprising that the man even considered doing that. Last time, he just cut through the fabric. It was clear why as he felt light slicing instead of stabbing. There was pain, but it wasn't enough to bring screams through his throat. He couldn't grit his teeth to stop the pained breathing and moans that came up though.

“Hmmm,” Carroll hummed, gazing over his recent work on the chest. Whatever he saw had him shake his head. “No.” He stopped and placed the knife aside before going to the bathroom and grabbing the first aid kit again. The chest wounds were cleaned, disinfected and bandaged before he was sat back up. Once he had everything cleaned up, he came back to the couch with the beer. “Let's see if there's anything else on your kidnapping. Maybe Fox will have some hilarious takes on you.” His hand found the collar again and Mike winced at the rub of his shirt on his open cuts.

~-~-~-Five months after the case, Second month in captivity.

A couple of days after the one month anniversary of his kidnapping, it was pouring rain and Carroll was bored. Mike saw it in the way the man paced back and forth between his spot in the bedroom to the living room, where the TV was flickering in and out. Judy was out for her work, Mandy at a friend's. They were alone as they could be. He was surprised the man wasn't taking advantage of it, slicing him up and cutting until he could get screams out of him and blood coloring the floor.

Instead, he was mumbling about gifts and together time. It actually worried him. Claire's tale of the romantic dinner didn't inspire confidence. What the hell would the man do for 'together time' that he wasn't already doing? The anger relief and acting as a pincushion wasn't enough, he had to come up with something new for the day. _What else could he do? Carroll doesn't deviate from the routine of knives. He doesn't want to finish me off yet. This sounds like he's coming up with something new, which makes no sense for the guy. He's comfortable with his style and his preference in weapons. What new thing could he do with knives that would keep me alive?_

It took Carroll about two hours to set up what he wanted to do. Then, he came back for Mike. First, he stripped off the tape. The first fist he knocked aside, the second he caught and started to crush. “That was incredibly rude,” he said, hitting him and then standing up to kick his chest. He groaned, the wounds that he had received the prior week barely healed through and his hand in pain. Carroll dragged him up and pushed him into the bathroom. After he was allowed to use the toilet, he was stripped of his clothes and pushed in the shower. The man had bought cheap shampoo and body wash for him to use.

The first time to clean himself in ages, he had to be careful with the wounds. The water was barely warm, but he didn't care as he scrubbed his way to a sort of normalcy for his body. His new scars were fading, and the major one that Charlie caused months ago was almost gone, thanks to care and a sister-in-law with tricks of the skin trade. He wondered about getting rid of the new ones, going over the set that the man had created last week. It looked like he had been writing something, but decided against it. Now, there were two slash marks to mar it.

After ten uninterrupted minutes, Carroll switched the hot off and he gasped at the cold water that started pouring down. Getting the hint, he rinsed and shut off the other tap before walking out. The man pushed a towel into his hands and he dried off the best he could under a watchful and increasingly annoyed eye. Once he was done, Carroll forced him into new clothes, bargain priced sleeping pants and a bulk package t-shirt. No underwear, which was going to be interesting to get accustomed with.

Out in the living room was the next part. First, Mike was pushed into a chair and handcuffed. His legs were re-wrapped in tape. Once secure, Carroll started on the first part of his anniversary agenda. Picking up small scissors, he clipped Mike's beard down to the skin. He then switched it out for lather, applying it thickly. Mike was wary at that point, then terrified when he picked up a razor. “Now, stay perfectly still,” he instructed.

Pulling on his hair to straighten his neck, he started scraping. Mike stopped breathing while he was working on his neck. It was a while before the man moved beyond it and he was able to inhale shallow breaths. It took fifteen minutes for the man to completely shave his beard and part of his sideburns off. He admired his work and then sat a mirror on the table before having him face it. Mike grimaced as he saw that the beard he had worked hard on to grow out gone, bringing back the kid face that he had been leaving behind. Carroll laughed at his face. “You do look remarkably like a teenager clean-shaven,” he commented. “One of your brothers gave pictures of your high school and college years to an online blogger. Interesting read on the growth of the second youngest BAU agent.” Putting the tools away, he then undid his hands to redo the right one to the arm of the chair, leaving his left free.

 ~~Joe. Joseph.~~ Carroll started on the second part while he sat. A fresh meal was prepared, a couple of pork chops friend with greens and rolls. It was clumsy using his left hand, but the meat could be torn with patience and he paused to eat the sides when he got annoyed. He was done well after his table buddy and set down after getting all that he could. It was one of the more fulfilling meals that he had since being brought here.

Now was the main event. Another quick check and he was allowed to not gag his victim like he normally did. There was also the note of the new clothing. It would be a waste to get them dirty already. Instead, he was planning on testing a different way to inflict pain. Securing him, Carroll turned on the stove. Getting it as high as he could without stench, he set a new instrument across the grill before going to the back. Mike tried figuring out what the item was, only to be able to see that it was metal and blunt. _Well, he's not heating it up to hit me with it. Burning? Marking?_ He came back out with the first aid kit and the materials to clean and treat burn wounds.

Worried, he watched as the instrument started glowing after a few more minutes of direct contact with the flame. After it was just red, the man took it back, holding it in a pot holder. There were no words as he sat down in the closest chair, on Mike's left, and placed the heated up part on his forearm. It was only a couple of seconds, but his skin burnt instantly and continued into lighter stinging when he took it off. He didn't cry out, gritting his teeth and breathing out the cry that wanted out. 

Joseph was amazed at the reaction. He thought that it would have been painful enough. Going back and heating it up a little more, he tried again, a little further down from the original and sat it again. This time, he waited eight seconds, with the result of groans and movement to try and subconsciously get away. Pulling it off, and set it down to get it red hot while cleaning the wounds on his arm. 

For the last attempt, not getting the same effect that he would get from his use of knives and his hands, he drew up Mike's shirt and forced it down his arms. A finger traveled down his back, admiring the cleanness of it and knowing what he was about to do. The item was red again, radiating heat. He grasped it and brought it over, not pausing before pressing it to his lower back.

Mike screamed, his back not having any defense against pain. He moved forward and was forcibly held in place, Joseph's hand on his neck. The item stayed for seven seconds before he flipped and set it on his shoulders. The second time was a yell, petering out due to the abuse. Satisfied at the result, he ended the session. The burner was turned off, the instrument set down to cool. He cleaned, bandaged and pulled his shirt back on. “That was a stellar finale, Agent Weston,” the man complimented. Finished for the night, he dragged him back to his holding box and locked him in, redoing his hands in front with tape.

The wounds on his back started crying out again. The ones on his arm were stinging. Mike felt a couple of tears run out from the pain. _Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, that hurt. That was his idea of anniversary, finding a new way to torture me?_ The pain kept him up and he tried listening to the outside, refining any ability to heighten his hearing. _Okay, he's using the bathroom. That usually takes a few minutes. Then Joseph's going to... Wait, when did I start calling him Joseph? Carroll's going to come to the bed, lie down. Sometimes it takes him a while to fall asleep. Sometimes it's quicker. Today may have given him some new material to... to masturbate to. Oh god, I hate listening to that._ His hands bound too close together, he couldn't completely cover his ears when the man started jerking off. Putting his fingers in didn't do much good.

The bed springs creaked as the man sat down, then settled to lie down. Mike tried blocking out the sounds, but it didn't work like previous times. First was the pop of a cap. Lotion or lubrication was poured out. Then, there were small moans as Carroll grasped himself and started arousing his penis. His own body tried showing interest and he shoved it down by thinking about his father screaming at him after finding him with his first boyfriend. It worked, he deflated. The other man was getting louder. He imagined the man fully erect, lotion coating his hand and his genitals. Mike did not just imagine Carroll's penis, he did not. Louder, and louder the man was getting. He must be having fun with the new material in his head.

Twisting, his back flared up at his minute movements cringing in embarrassment, and he gasped in pain when the man groaned as he orgasmed. Breathing deeply and harshly, he switched to his right side, barely having enough room to do so. After a few minutes, he realized the man had settled down to sleep, finishing his after routine to clean up. Without him to focus on, he turned in onto himself. 

Some of his thoughts were worrying him. Mike did not like Carroll, he did not identify with him. Subconsciously, he was doing just that against his greater self. His body and mind were trying to keep him alive and he was trying to find points in the man's psyche to align himself and sympathize with. It was the beginnings of Stockholm Syndrome. Quantico taught him and others in the academy how to analyze people for the diagnosis. Debra would have gone through the same class. Not like she needed it, finding out about her past after she died. BAU agents especially were taught to recognize the signs, given the prevalence of captors using the bonds to have victims fight their rescuers.

These bonds had to stop now. He couldn't allow himself to fall into the emotional trap. _Stockholm Syndrome is the process in which a victim may make false connections and develop sympathy, friendship, possibly even romantic feelings for their captor. This is pointedly to keep said person alive. That's what you are trying to do. Carroll is a murderer, a violent man that had his son kidnapped. Then proceeded to manipulate his wife to get her back. He had me kidnapped for the location. When I didn't give it to his second in command, I would have been killed if Ryan hadn't shot and scattered them. There is nothing there. There is nothing there. It's false._ Mike fell asleep repeating the mantra to himself.


	3. Chapter Three - Parts five and six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not planning the chapter a week, but it is nice.
> 
> Of course all of these are premade. Once I hit original, it might take longer.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer for this part. _I know next to nothing about proper care on BDSM equipment, other than what I've managed to find through not very thorough searches and some thoughts on common sense procedures. Don't take my story as advice on what to do, please. Find someone that actually knows, consult a few books. What I know about the leather items comes from gym equipment._

_ Joe's POV - Two weeks after the First Anniversary event _

The day started off badly. Mandy was at school and Judy was visited by one of her friends while they were working on the lawn. The woman was a church going, born again follower that wanted her friend to stop her work and get a 'real' job, and a true Christian man. That annoyed Joe. She was screechy and reminded him of some of the women at those University events. Preached and then didn't follow when it came down to them having affairs, or embezzling from the places they worked. He had no idea why Judy was still friends with that woman. _Maybe she took pride in something about it. Was she servicing her husband?_ After she left, the two continued on the gardening, Judy planting vegetables and telling him that she'd hope they would turn out better this year than last. After a shower over at Judy's to get rid of the grime, he was invited into the bedroom. An act of sexual pleasure for the both of them ended too soon, he had to gather his clothes quickly as she answered the door for a client.

Weston had moved from the bedroom to the kitchen, standing up to get to the drawers that held the knives. “Today was not a good day to try this again,” he admonished, crossing in three steps. Joe's hands instinctively went to his neck, the threat of choking him felt by them closing. “Do you have anything?”

He kept his mouth shut, forcing the man to check and see a steak knife held tightly. His hands were still tied. Joe clenched his hands, cutting off air until the knife dropped with a clang. He stopped choking him, but then threw him on the ground. He kicked once, hitting Weston's chest. The groan that came out reminded him to grab the ball gag and force it in. He then let more of his more primal thoughts out.

Fighting have never been a calling of his. He never got the same thrill of using his fists as he would his knives or strangling. If he hit, it was out of rage, and it was to get someone in line. Timothy, Emma. It didn't feel good hitting the body underneath him. The pain was annoying, and nothing was happening for his satisfaction. He stopped because his knuckles were starting to sting. Weston's face was a map of cuts, a nosebleed and marks that were starting to bruise.

Picking himself, he cleaned his hands first, scrubbing and checking carefully. He then went out to clean up his victim. Michael glared up at him when he began roughly wiping his face up. Rage still simmered beneath his skin and he picked up a knife, the same one he tried using. He dragged the young man to a sitting position. “So, where should I start?” he inquired, no answer in return. The chest had several cuts, healed and on their way. His arms were completely healed, but they were only at good for slight slashing. _I've never went after his legs. Always good to practice where to hit._

The pants had been on since the anniversary, and he didn't really like them. He had the previous pair of jeans, other cheap pajama bottoms. Feeling the thigh first, his fingers picked up the twitching from the muscles underneath. It was a new experience for him. Legs were usually never a target for him. He could also feel a slight twitch of something else. _Why, Michael, I didn't think of you like that._ Sliding the blade along, he traced the artery with his tip. “And here,” he muttered, pushing the blade in to the side. The moan soothed him unlike the alcohol and sexual pleasure he had just indulged in. Blood stained the material and he let it stay for a second before pulling it out. Going further down, he then twisted the leg to gain better access to his calf. This was simpler, no need for checking on where to place it. He nudged it down for a longer cut, enjoying the fight against the muscle and skin, but not from his victim. No doubt he didn't want healing problems later.

Calming down from the act, he placed the knife in the sink and walked over to the bathroom again. A Friend had dropped off a complete kit after one of his wounds wouldn't heal. Along with an emergency dosage of antibiotics, there were glue packets to close deeper cuts. He grabbed one and cleaning supplies. There was blood pooling on the floor and he noted the cleaning supplies he would have to dig up. “All right, Agent Weston, keep still for a little longer,” he directed.

Pulling him up a tiny bit, he dragged down the bottoms to gain better access to the wounds. Joe noticed that the man had reacted to his ministrations on his thigh. It was barely a forethought as he poured glue into the wound and pressed it close, wrapping it to keep it tight. Then, it was the calf, and that used up the rest of the packet along with pressing it to make sure it was together and covering it as well. That finished, he placed another pair of pants on so the stained ones would be washed out. Or thrown, whatever was better. Finished, Joe felt better, previous anger and disgust dwindle to acceptable levels. He brought out a beer and sat on the couch, dragging his victim over with him so he could press on the wounds. 

Night came quickly and he placed his victim in the box again, checking his old and new wounds. He had added a pillow at one point, but it didn't do much in the way of making things comfier. Locking it, he thought about getting some more items for it and figured on doing that for the next anniversary, depending on when and if Michael kept down his escape attempts.

_And I've gone to calling him Michael again. Oh dear, I've grown attached, like a child to a pet. I best stop that before I don't want to kill him. Agent Weston is a threat, and it might be necessary to neutralize him later on._

-

The next day, Joe reminded himself that he had to clean up from the previous day, something that he forgot. After getting the blood off of the laminate, he went at the bathroom and other areas that were starting to accumulate dust. Weston watched with curiosity. _This must be a novelty, a serial killer doing his chores._ When the major areas were done, he was invited over for lunch with Mandy and Judy, who had done a large meal so the three of them could eat together. The rest of the afternoon went by quietly and he helped Mandy out a little to her mother's light admonishment before going back to his rooms.

In fact, the days to the next anniversary were boring and repetitive. Joe had nothing to do outside of the normal routines of life. Even the thought of cutting deeply into Weston didn't sound much fun when he had to remember to clean otherwise Judy and Mandy might see it and question it. Once would work. Three times or more would be problematic. Oh, there was also the possibility that he might overdo the damage he causes. That wasn't as much worry as he thought of it, just a note on the idea.

The only thing he was able to do on the anniversary was shave off the hair that was starting to grow back. He was fond of being the only one around with a beard. That and a pot of stew instead of leftovers were the nice things for the day. The escape attempt and boredom kept him from planning something elaborate. He mainly played with old wounds along with watching TV. There was a better than average documentary on Poe, a favorite of channels to follow up programs that were centered around him. Weston was bored, falling asleep against the couch.

He glowered down at the display. His victim had become complacent, bored. Oh dear god, what was he doing? Joe remembered when his victims would be fearful at the sight of him. Had he lost his touch? _I don't think it's about losing touch more than it is he isn't like the other victims I've ever had. The girls were all afraid. He knows, and he could fight back if I were to cross the line of stress relief and threaten his life. He's just biding his time before someone finds out that I'm alive and come down to kill me and save him._ That angered him. Here Joe was, one of the more prolific serial killers of the century, he hoped, and he was sitting on the couch watching documentaries on Poe while his 'best friend's' little sidekick slept by his leg. _What would my remaining 'Friends' think of me if they saw this? Emma?_ It was something that he did not want to ponder on, lest he fall into the depression state he had been cultivating in the four months before his victim's arrival.

So, he changed, going from the maudlin thoughts to something a little more freeing. The women hadn't been around all day, visiting a friend of Judy's and her kids. They also hadn't been together in a while. He was feeling a bit neglected. Of course, Judy had been receiving more callers in the last few weeks and wasn't feeling up to also having him. He hadn't had a good session of intercourse in a couple of weeks. There had been times when he had gotten himself off, but it wasn't as satisfying. He wanted a partner. Joe was still a looker, he still might be able to charm the pants off of women. It was a risk, but he had the option of going out and picking someone up. Judy wouldn't be happy, but he was quite the opposite.

His trip into an imaginative sexual situation had his body react to arousal. He placed his hand on top, massaging the growing bulge and humming at the pleasurable feeling. A part of him wanted to head to the bedroom, drop trou and 'rub one out'. He wasn't a true exhibitionist, Claire and him did watch each other for a little spice in their life. There were men in the blocks that enjoyed letting everyone know they were masturbating. That and he normally wasn't a fan of the same sex. Ryan, being one that could meet him and even outwit him at times, was the only one he could consider as a best friend and possibly with a little crush for someone that truly understands what went through his head. Not the little sidekick that had woken up and turned away once he realized what he was doing.

He focused on Weston's back, seeing the healed burn mark he had created. His hand went to the nearby drawer and pulled out a small bottle of lotion. Pouring out a small amount, he unclasped the jeans and slid his hand down to rub. He groaned loudly, working himself within the confined space. Joe watched the hunched figure try to ignore him as he did this. Annoyed at the covering, he shimmed his jeans and underwear down and slightly shivered at the air before continuing. Impulsive at the moment, he pulled at Weston's hair, gaining a pained moan while he positioned him to forcibly watch. It surprised him where he was going, but between the eyes on him and his rough movement harden him quicker. He moaned and thumbed the slit, pushing himself. When he felt the edge starting to come up, he pointed and shifted so it would hit Weston in the face and down his front.

“Hmmm,” he groaned in ecstasy, his body loosening at the act. His little watcher wasn't glad at the ejaculation on him. Feeling a bit funny, Joe lifted his jeans back up and pulled the young man up before going over to the bathroom. Pushing him into the shower, he turned on the cold only. Weston gasped at the rush, but he simply took the time to shampoo his hair before rinsing and pulling him out. Then, he cut the shirt off, remembering the cheap pack he had and delegating it to a cleaning rag instead. He was unintentionally checking him out. Of course, he contributed it to the hormones going through his body as he had seen his body before and didn't think with these thoughts. 

_Michael_ wasn't terribly looking for a male, slender with leaner muscles. He likely didn't exercise to build, but more to keep up a baseline of strength. Not too hairy of a chest, but he could tell that it had been slightly trimmed at one point, as it was a bit thicker than he was expecting. The scar that Charlie made was almost gone, but his were still around. It was a proud and saddening moment. Charlie and Roderick should have more to remember them by, yet it will be his marks that will be remembered. His hand twitched to open one up and make it spoil the pale skin that wasn't marked.

Getting his head back from the side trip, he thought about redressing him and decided against it. Joe didn't want to deal with undoing the tape and getting a new one. “I, uh, guess you'll go without a shirt tonight.” _Agent Weston. Agent Weston. Weston. He might have to be put down, stop growing attached. This is like the group again._

~-~-~-Third Month, leading up to the third Anniversary, six months after the end of the case

Joe was pissed off.

Mandy came home crying because a couple of _boys_ had taunted her about her mother's occupation. It took the two of them to calm her down. After a few rounds of reminding her that it wasn't as terrible as the boys, and the community, made it sound or appear, she settled into Joe's side and watched a couple of movies before going to sleep in her room. Judy got a late call and he promised to not go scaring people for what they said to Mandy. 

After she left, he locked up and went over to his trailer. Weston was laying down in the box and he didn't bother to pick him up before throttling him. He didn't fight back, the act disturbingly normal by this point. Instead, tears filled his eyes as oxygen couldn't get to his brain and he had a hand come up to his wrist. If he went too far, which was often, he pressed on a pressure point to numb and release his hand. It was getting better as he didn't need the cue to stop, releasing and letting him cough and sputter to get back to natural breathing.

As Joe stood up and planned on going back to drink a beer, his gaze was drawn down. There was a bump in his bottoms. _Oh my, had Weston reacted to that? Was he aroused by almost dying?_ He laughed, “Are you enjoying this?” He received a glare and Weston tried ignoring him. “No. You are not dismissing me. I want an answer. Are you enjoying my hands around your throat?”

“No,” he croaked, throat not completely back to shape.

“Then why,” he pointed out, nudging the area and listening to the muffled moan, “Are you stimulated?” Weston did not want to answer that, staring at everything but him. “No, no, you don't get to do that. Again, Agent Weston. I want an answer.” He still wouldn't say. His hands itched for his throat.

Joe tried a different 'attack'. Pulling down the bottoms, he saw the member stirred further by the action. His hand was dry, so instead he stroked with a single finger. The attention made him gasp, the tone of arousal and fear laced in. There was a small thrill in it. The lube had been left out after his last masturbation, so he grabbed it and squirted some out onto his hand. Warming it up by working it around, he then grasped the erecting cock. The gasp was louder this time as he started slowly massaged the length. His body was enjoying it, but his face was horrified, scared, disgusted.

“It's nothing more than an automatic bodily response called autoerotic asphyxiation. I don't enjoy it. I don't enjoy this. Stop touching me!”

The demand made him stop. Never it let it be said that Joe wasn't in tune with the needs of his victims. Actually, most people would, considering he killed them. He didn't cross over the line into rape. That had been a firm distinction for him, Roderick and several others in the group. No rapists, no child abusers, no one that hit their spouses or partners. _That was a hypocritical move on my part,_ remembering when he hit Emma. And tried attacking Claire.

Weston calmed down enough to cover himself back up and block any attempt to finish by curling the offending area. His breathing was harsh, erratic, as he tried to keep down and destroy the weak response. Joe, realizing that he didn't need anything else from him, stood up and washed his hand of the lube and a little pre-come. Scrubbing well, he dried off his hands. Staring at himself in the mirror, he pondered on trimming his beard while his hand traveled down. At some point, he had started arousing himself with the fear coming off Weston. _It is a bit juvenile, but I don't want this interrupting me at the moment._ Standing over the toilet bowl, he quickly jerked off, using some hastily gotten lotion so he didn't have to go back out. It was fast and rough, pulling him over and forcing him to brace the other hand against the wall.

Once he had calmed down and cleaned up his mess, he went out to see Weston still covered up, but he had relaxed a bit. “Did you finish yourself off?” he inquired. He gained a glare, and the boy laid down in the box to ignore him the best way he could.

\- 

It should have been surprising that he was making more visits to the sex toy store. Joe hadn't gone this much when he was married to Claire. The two of them had been enough for whatever sexual thoughts and desires he had. What had changed? There was probably some sort of explanation. Perhaps he should ask the agent, find out what had changed. Was it something he was missing? A dark urge that he couldn't feed?

Now, he knew what he was going for. There was a visit for tape, but the cashier, a lovely young woman that had directed him before, waved him to another section of the store. “I'm just pointing these out because you've bought several rolls of that,” she said, pointing at the bondage tape that had become his regular buy. “If you and your partner want to keep having several sessions, it would be more efficient and cheaper in the long run to get some of these.”

What she was showing off were thick leather cuffs. A good gauge of ring connected a moderately strong chain and there was another area where a padlock, located right next to them, would be place to keep the victim from taking it off. They were sold in sets for wrists and ankles, along with a third option that had all of those and a collar completely attached to a single chain. The image of the collar surrounding Michael's throat came up and made him almost salivate. _And there with Michael again. He is a sort of pet, a puppy. Perhaps that is the reason for the lapse. He's a pet. ~~He's my property.~~_ He had to shake himself off of the dangerous ideas. They would have to be explored when he was back home. “For this package, can the collar be separated?” he inquired.

“Oh, as a standalone piece? Yeah, the chain is hooked at the central ring in front. So for safety reasons, such has limited movement, you can detach the chain from the bindings. Showering's not recommended. Water makes the buckles, locks, studs rust. Also, with the heat, take it off and fully wash and dry it after sessions. Leather and sweat isn't a good combination and they can lead to rash on the wrists and such,” she informed.

It had been seeming like a suitable solution to the item, but he internally frowned on the last instructions. _Weston would have numerous attempts to escape. I wonder if full metal would have the same problems with the heat and sweat. Handcuffs, handcuffs would be a good between. Or chain._ The leather was a good idea, more comfortable than the tape. Not that he cared, but it was easier to deal with him when things weren't going on and disrupting the mood. Handling health items that came up not because of him was one of them. The cuffs would give more leeway and he wouldn't have to fight and help him over the littlest of items. Bathroom, eating. All would be easier.

“I think this is going to be the first,” he muttered, before shaking and turning to the amused cashier. “There are a few others things I would like to inquire about.”

“Ask away and I will answer to my best knowledge.”

That's how he brought a full leather cuff set, ankles, wrists and collar. He didn't get the packaged, connected version, as they could be detached and he didn't want Weston to get ideas. _I also want stronger chains. She said they were good against struggling, but I don't think they intended them for the use I intend. Or maybe they did and designed against it. That would be something to search for at one point._ There was also a leash purchase, another gag called a spider, and a few books on things he wanted to learn about. It was like his first visit, loading up on new items. There were a few other purchases he wanted to make, but they would wait until he had a more firm understanding on the practices and items. That and several of his thoughts would be hard to explain without full knowledge on the subject. _I think they would be able to tell what was would be real sexual assault and simulated rape._

Everything was hidden when he came home. He got odd looks for concealing his purchase, but it would be for the anniversary. Three months since they brought him down to Joe and he hasn't gone through his urges to just kill the agent. Some would think that's admirable, but then he was torturing the agent, which was why he wasn't dead.

In fact, days became a blur as he impatiently waited for the anniversary. Joe read the books. Dominance and submission, bondage, the subculture. They were interesting, saw a couple of points that spoke to his inner nature and thoughts. It reminded him of the militia man and the mess that led to Monroe's death. _The woman had a business that specialized in this, if I remember correctly._ He hadn't needed the reminder of that failure, but the memory of Agent Weston in that chair, bound helplessly made him groan. And his hands wrapped around his neck. He itched to repeat it.

Instead, the week before the anniversary was a whirlwind of activity. He went out shopping with Judy and picked up ingredients for himself and Weston for the dinner. There was a side trip for a length of chain to tie him up with when the leather cuffs needed washing. _It could also be for discipline. A choke collar to force him to heel. Wonderful idea for puppies._ There were also sexual purchases, condoms and lubrication. Judy had a supply on hand, telling her customers that if they wanted to go bare, it cost extra. She always took birth control to that effect. He had done it a couple of times when they had sex, but he liked having his own supplies on hand. If Judy had suspicions about her purchases, she never said anything. Which he found relaxing. The woman's savior complex would take a tumble if she found out about the side he had. Oh, and she would insist on him leaving. Possibly call the police. She nodded her approval on his purchases, the brands ones she loved using herself. 

Again, he hid the chain, but allowed the lube and condoms to be seen. Michael eyed them with cautiousness. He smirked and got started with heating up leftovers.

-

The day before the anniversary, it was pouring rain. Joe ran back and forth to the house. Mandy and Judy were cleaning out and he had been tasked to help out in dragging things to the trash. After a while, he was soaking wet and sighed in happiness when he could settle down at his home. First, he checked to make sure the man didn't escape. Weston was still in his box, handcuffed to the bed frame. The tape was stretched and remembered that there was only a day before he could stop using it and worrying about him cutting through.

He ran out of hot water in the shower, a testament to how long he was in there. Joe had picked out more comfortable pants and a shirt, not planning to go out in the weather. The dinner for the night was going to be soup and grilled cheese, something he had grown to like on rainy days. It warmed him and he was settled enough to make hot cocoa with powdered mixture and water. He was even nice enough to make some for Michael, who while wary, took it and sipped before smiling a tiny bit.

Tomorrow was going to be grand for Joe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Note
> 
> If you couldn't tell, I've added in the POV and a timeline. It's how I've been keeping things organized.


	4. Chapter Four - Parts Seven and Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where those warnings come in real handy.
> 
> Repeat: **Warning for rape and sexual assault.**

Combination POV, Third Anniversary

The day started off bright and early. Incredibly bright, everything was still shining from the rain that was left from the day before. The temperature was rising and Joe felt ecstatic as he prepared. First was the rubbing down three thawed chickens. One for the main meal with Judy, Mandy and himself, another for him and Michael, and then the last would be used for meals for the next couple of days. After those were done and resting, he washed up and started the same for Weston. He took off the tape and watched him showering. Now, he had new bottoms to replace the old ones, but the tape would be replaced by the leather cuffs he had bought.

He didn't go over ten minutes, remembering the last couple of times he had turned off the hot water. The scars that adorned his body were faded, but a couple were still shiny. Joe felt like reopening some. Possibly try again for the mark he wanted to leave, eye-catching so no one, _Ryan_ , would mistake it. The last time hadn't worked. This time, he had a clear idea that he wanted to do. _Later._ He promised himself. _Tonight will already be sensational. I don't want to do everything at the same time._ That and to practice on paper may make it work the second time.

Weston eyed the new restraints warily. He placed the clothes on, but didn't go near the other items. “Sit,” Joe ordered, waiting for him to obey his order. He did the wrists first, checking to make sure the padlocks were secure and the chain not prone to breaking. Then, the ankles were done. The collar would go tonight, after the finale of himself.

Bringing him out to the living room, he performed the ritual of shaving off the facial hair. There was also a clipping of hair. Joe didn't think he did too poorly, managing to keep the basic style while getting an inch off. He was looking a little unruly. He swept up while Weston gingerly poked at the new restraints.

Once he was done with that, he thought about starting the chicken. Judy had a customer over and Mandy was out, something about a party at a friend's house. There was nothing on TV, so Joe decided on the first part of the day's _other_ activities. Lifting him up again, he walked him back to the bedroom. He pulled down the man's bottoms and pushed him onto the bed. It was surprising to his prey, but it became worrying when he pulled out the last amount of lube in the open bottle. 

“Oh, don't look so anxious. We will not be doing anything at the moment,” he said, “This is for yourself. Take the lubrication and masturbate for me.” He laid the bottle down by him. Michael wouldn't start. He was obviously embarrassed, not making any move towards what he wanted. “Oh, come now. You've heard me, you've seen me. I would like to see you do the exact thing. Unless you would like to have me do the act for you, with a knife for added help.”

The threat was untrue, seeing as he didn't have one in the bedroom, but it pushed him forward. Squeezing out the last of the batch, he didn't even wait to warm it up before slicking himself up. Normally, Mike wouldn't keep himself silent. It wasn't his nature. By himself, or with a partner, he moaned, drawing it out to drive himself or his partner crazy. Now, he was trying to keep every single sound to himself to anger Carroll. _This is fucking humiliating. What the hell happened that this is something the man would suggest this?_ The shock of the cold didn't last, and he was slowly hardening. He bit his tongue as his body started heating up, the sensation becoming pleasurable.

He closed his eyes to ignore everything around him and imagine something else. _There was someone else pleasuring him, stroking him. He couldn't see their face, phantomly feeling them nibbling on his neck. This version moaned with delight, the slight pain mixing with the erotic joy. “Fuck,” he groaned, reaching out and grabbing at the body above him, “Come on, please.” He was trying to rub against them, either for contact or friction to push himself forward. Frustratingly, they were keeping him down, the only contact their neck and cock. “More. More. More, damn it! Give me something else!”_

Going faster along with his daydream, Mike orgasmed before he knew, splattering over his chest and some on the bed with the rest flowing over his hand and cock. When he 'woke' up from the dream, everything became cold, and the semen was sticky. The realization of his actual situation sank in and he peeked over at Carroll watching in amusement over the show.

“Well, I must say, that is interesting,” he commented, now staring at him. Mike started growing embarrassed, his body staying red after its arousal. “Who were you thinking about?” Mike couldn't give an answer, considering that they hadn't shown their face during the daydream. “Oh, come now. Was it an ex-girlfriend? Ex-boyfriend? A _fantasy_ about our lovely Ryan?”

Mike felt worse with that thought. He had fantasized about Ryan a few times, before and during the case. After, with the man pushing him away, everything included him not getting what he wants, with Ryan gone from all of them. Even if he tried to invoke him. The image always had him saying no and walking away. It hurt.

Carroll didn't seem to concerned about the answer, as he had left during his pity moment to grab a washcloth. Coming back, he managed to get all the semen off of him, then lifted him off and got the globs off of his sheets. “Oh, if I wasn't...” he mumbled, pulling them off and planning on rinsing them off before drying so they would be usable tonight. Mike pulled up his pants and retied them, feeling disgusting over the 'show'.

Nothing else noteworthy happened. Joe went over and started cooking the chicken for the girls. He then dragged his victim out to sit down and have a beer before watching a show. Without the shirt to keep him close, Michael kept moving away until he started grabbing his hair and pulling him back. He made the best, painful noises when he did that. They stayed like that for just over an hour, when Mandy came out to bring him over for dinner. Before he joined them, he started the other two chickens and locked his prisoner up. The two should be fine.

Judy made a fine garden salad and brought out store-bought potato salad and rolls to complete the meal. They ate well. Joe didn't eat as fully as he could have, his own being baked over in the trailer along with another one to carve and set aside. He also didn't want to be stuffed, otherwise he would go to sleep before the second major event he would attempt tonight. There was a bit of the chicken left, likely to be used for Mandy's lunch along with the other leftovers.

The girls were planning on a night for themselves, and with them shut inside in front of a TV, he went back to the trailer. Joe first pulled out the chicken to rest, and pulled out a small tub of potato salad along with some of the other salad. He went and walked Weston out so he would eat. A good hour later, he was ready for the other event to finish off their third month event. With everything off and taken care of, he dragged the young man to the bed and laid him down.

Mike was wary about the change in routine. Carroll usually sat him in the box and locked him in before starting his nightly tasks before going to bed. _If the man wanted to fall asleep with someone, he could stay over in the other house and sleep with the woman there._ If he had violent tendencies that he wanted to expel, he would have done them in the afternoon before cooking the chicken. After the masturbation he had to perform in front of him. _He's not into men. Joseph didn't even attach to anyone when he was inside. There are other ways the man likes to demonstrate power play. Other than the obvious 'your life is in my hands.' Not to mention he didn't actually ejaculate over or near his victims. Sexual, but not on the victims. So, what the hell is he doing with me?_

The man finished and turned everything off before walking back in, shutting the door behind him. Before laying down, he pulled out a bag that he remembered from weeks ago, when he bought condoms, lube and other items that he hadn't seen. _Now, I know that part of it were the new leather cuffs and padlocks. Joe Carroll in a sex store. I would love to... *sigh* No chance in that happening. What else would he have bought? A dildo?_ It seemed to be a strange concept of Joe Carroll buying a sexual toy, but then the guy had been getting stuff from the store to keep him quiet and tied up. He kinda wanted to start laughing at the idea of the man going through the aisles along with customers.

He didn't start laughing as the man pulled him up to sit. Something encircled his neck and he forced himself to still when feeling leather against his skin. _A collar. He bought a fucking collar._ It was degrading, feeling the thing move along with his Adam's apple and muscles. Carroll was claiming him as if he was some sort of dog. And Carroll was pleased with it, grinning darkly down at him. There was also the whiffle ball coming back, being forced into his mouth before he could protest. He was then shoved back on the bed. “Now, you'll have to forgive me,” he mentioned, climbing on and hovering over him, “This is my first time doing this, but I did my homework on it.”

He started panicking. Mike knew what the man was going to do. In the first time in ages, he started fighting back. Carroll was slightly surprised, but he didn't think anything of it while pushing him back down, using his leverage and mass. “No!” he yelled, muffled by the damn gag.

“Oh, hush, Michael, this might be enjoyable,” Carroll said, “Now, stop moving or I will make you.” Mike wanted to continue fighting. Joseph saw that. He pulled on his hair first, making him groan in pain and hands came up to stop him.

“Fuck you,” he shouted, “It's still no.” Mike dug a fingernail into the back of his hand. He hissed and pulled back, letting go of the hair.

“This will happen, whether you want it to or not, Agent Weston,” he growled. Flipping him on his stomach, Joe grabbed his hands and pushed them under the boy's body. He then used his arm to keep the shoulders and arms down to he couldn't use them. His weight on top of the legs were keeping those down. Maneuvering with difficulty, he held the bottle of lube with the hand attached to the arm holding him down. Squirting out a sizable amount, it warmed on his hand while he moved down to his buttocks. Separating with one hand, he found the hole he wanted and carefully inserted his index finger pass the first round of muscle.

Mike complained as he felt the intrusion. He couldn't move, couldn't wiggle away and hide. His body was also reacting to it. _Automatic response to stimulus. It doesn't mean anything._ He knew that, had learned it from classes and from people that had experienced sexual assault. Guys got hard because they were teased to erection. Girls had orgasms if the perp knew how to encourage it out of them. It made them feel like they wanted it, which made them think twice about not reporting. _Doesn't help that a boyfriend did this to me once or twice. I wish my body knew the difference between want and don't want._ His eyes squeezed shut at the second finger entering.

Joe wanted to go faster. Being with Claire and Emma, he was used to fingering females to arouse them, and prepare them. Males needed more work. In order for both parties to come out uninjured, he need three, if not four, fingers stretching him until it was about as large as his cock. Getting more lube, he added it to the mixture that was going at the moment. It was darkly coloured and he grimaced, but kept going by adding the third finger. There were complaints and groans from the body. He could even imagine they were from pleasure.

Mike was waiting for the last part. Carroll wouldn't be satisfied with stretching him. His eyes were still closed, which didn't help as it meant his nerves were at attention even more. Things were pleasurable but they were not what he wanted. Not from him, at least, and he couldn't reverse the arousal like he was able to before, thinking about disappointment. Even tensing with each movement, he was loosening for the inevitable. There was retraction of the fingers, and a second later, something bigger and thicker took its place. The man's pleasure filled groan wasn't needed for him to know it was the man's dick inside him. It wasn't a surprise that he was so upset that tears started coming out.

It was insanely wonderful, the heat and pulsing surrounding Joe just a tad tighter around him than any virgin he had the benefit to fuck. Getting through the rings of muscle took a bit of time, not wanting to split them and causing blood to spill. There was plenty of lube on himself and in the hole to make sure that it went as smoothly as one could make it. He bottomed out and had to wait a couple of seconds before attempting to pull out partially. Michael had begun to cry, and he would be insulted except this wasn't his choice. He had never taken a girl against her will, nor the occasional boy that he had the fortune to attract. But now, he wasn't getting his fill of power. The transition from prison to the house and then to Arkansas had screwed with his head along with the change in power. In prison, he had to calm himself so he didn't kill. Then, he was out, able to satisfy his bloodlust. Now, he couldn't kill without raising suspicion. While there was now someone to take his more deadly tendencies out on, the annoyance, arrogance, and insubordination of Agent Michael Weston angered him at times. Most could be taken out on him, and it worked for a good majority of the time. But repetition ruined the effect and he was growing accustomed to it. 

_I want this over. I want this over. Iwantthisover. Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop._

Joe had moans constantly flowing out of his mouth. He was holding the boy's hips in an attempt to keep them in the same place, his cock sliding in and out with little fuss. His stamina was good, but even he was overwhelmed from the first time doing this. He wondered about the other's reaction, and removed a hand to stretch and feel Michael's erect member. He laughed heartily. The man remembered the last time he had caused this response, and no doubt it was the same now. But, he would not allow him to do the same now. 

Mike jumped when he felt the man fondle him, hand still slick. Snot on the sheets along with tears and some saliva that escaped his mouth, it moved around when he started shaking his head against the new feeling. He did not want this associated with orgasms and the pleasant feelings of sex. He didn't want Carroll to take it away from him. Mike wasn't listened to, and his body went along with the hand stroking him to completion.

The man groaned rather loudly when he felt the body contract around him, the pressure compressing and driving his body to its climax. He had to put out his hands to keep from falling forward with the strength behind it. Staying in place to ride out, it was a good three minutes later before he managed to pull out. Tired after that bout of intercourse, he did want to lie down and sleep for the night. He managed to put away the condom and lube first, pulling out wet wipes and wiping himself off, disposing of the used condom as well. He then took a couple of more and wiped Michael of his mess, getting between his buttocks and flipping him to the side to gather what he could of the semen on the bed.

Looking at disgust with the wet areas and slime that had stayed, Joe moved Michael to the floor so he could pull off the sheets. Throwing them in the laundry basket, he pulled out another pair and fitted them quickly to the bed. Now ready to drop, he placed Weston in his box and locked it before collapsing on his bed.

~-~-~-Part Eight – Mike's POV, After the third anniversary event

Mike couldn't breathe.

_Joe Carroll is a rapist. Joe Carroll is a rapist. Oh God, why did this happen to me?_ This wasn't the serial killer the bureau and Ryan knew. He had never sexually assaulted his victims. **But then he had never kept one for as long as you, Weston. You're an anomaly just like this is. The only other person in this position would be Ryan.** Damn it, the hateful voice in his head had become a second Joe, taunting him and putting him down when he didn't need any help.

His crying was interfering with his ability to breath, the gag still in place and ~~Joe~~ Carroll was asleep so he wouldn't fucking do it. His nose was stuffed, the gag wasn't letting him get enough air. His mind was automatically trying to shift into a panicked state and hyperventilate to get the oxygen he needed. If he did that, he would be knocked out from not be able to get adequate air.

_ Mike, Mike. Hey, calm down. You can reach it, okay. Focus your hands, they can reach behind now to get to the clasp. _

The other voice was helpful. It sounded like Ryan, which was a fucked up way of thinking as the man wasn't a calming influence. _There was the attack, and after the hostage thing in the basement. Kinda nice to have someone that actually understands than claims to then tells you to suck it up._ His crying was lessening, but it wasn't enough to get his breathing back under control.

_ Come on, Mike. Reach up and unclasp the gag. _

Shifting around, he hit his arms a few times on the box to maneuver his hands over his head. Bending his head down, he managed to get a grip on the clasp and felt it to figure out how to unclip it. Once it was detached, he pulled it out. Gulping down a few deep breaths, he managed to get his breathing straight. It took a few minutes to calm down, getting to a state where he wasn't at risk of hyperventilating into unconsciousness. He was still panicking, still crying. His chest hurt from the pressure it had faced with the weight on him and his manic breathing.

_ Okay, okay. Calm down. _

_Parker had to head up after Ryan went after Carroll, going to call for backup. Mike was still tied to the chair, forgotten by his colleagues. He had to wait for someone to come back. Everything was menacing toward him. The shadows were creeping inside. Every sound was like a footstep getting closer. He tried focusing away from that, tried convincing himself over and over that nothing bad was going to happen. Carroll and Wells were gone, the other guy had to have been killed by Ryan. “There's no one here. There's no one here.”_

_“Agent Weston.”_

_He jumped up at the voice, not even close to being real, but scaring him anyways. Roderick was standing in front of him, still wearing the outfit that he had dawned for the 'fight club'. There were a couple of other shadows that were taking the shapes of Louise Sinclair and Charlie Mead. “We never finished round three,” he informed, “We should really do that. Charlie's been hoping for a time to get back at not giving Claire up.”_

_“Not like that matters,” 'Louise' commented._

_“We were still able to procure her from you,” 'Charlie' said._

_“But, it's still nice to see something finished,” 'he' said._

_“Get the hell away from me,” he whispered. Mike didn't register that it was his mind playing tricks. He was terrified, unable to fight back and he started struggling fruitlessly against the zip cuff to try something. “Get away from me. Get away from me.” Other figures came up. Carroll made a reappearance, Maggie Kestler, Ava the cop. There were more and more coming toward him. “No. No.”_

_In something that was the biggest cliché he would think of, Ryan ended up coming back in, his savior from the shadows. The man found the knife that had been left behind and went behind him to slice the zip open. The shadows had been disrupted, but he still felt like they were around. He was so focused that he didn't register Ryan moving into his field of vision and actually blocking them out. “Mike, Mike, you're the only one here,” he tried, unable to get him to stop panicking._

_The man was unsure of what to do. Ryan hadn't dealt with his own problems from Joe, the knife to the heart, the taunting that had happened when he was first brought on and then the escapes. Now here was someone that was a hell of a lot younger, that had dealt with blow after blow within just a few days and was breaking. He didn't know what to do. Then, a fist tried swinging out and he stopped it before having to hold down his other arm when it tried doing the same thing._

_Without knowing what the reaction would be, he went with his first, and only, thought. Ryan wrapped his arms around him, trapping Mike's arms so he couldn't hit. The kid was an inch taller, but he was curling to fit himself on his chest subconsciously. He felt the kid shaking, and figured that it wasn't from being cold. “Okay, okay. Calm down,” he mumbled, managing to get a hand on his back to rub through the multiple layers, “Come on, buddy. I'm the only one here. Parker's upstairs calling Donovan and Mitchell. The other two are long gone. Okay, Mike. We're the only ones down here.”_

_He didn't know what it was. Mike let out a whimper and stopped fighting, but that was because he instead grabbed him and clutched at him. It was painful for him, and it had to be worse for Mike, but the kid didn't let up. “Everything's....” The immediate word would have been good. That didn't work. “Better. Everything's better at the moment. None of them are here.”_

_He heard someone clear their throat and looked up to see Parker standing with a couple of medics. “I've been checked out,” she said, “They need to do the same for him.”_

_The body he was holding tensed before it let go, sitting up and then raising himself before anyone could see how he had been having an attack. His face was blank as the two medics that had been waiting took over, walking him up while peppering him with questions._

A part of him knew why he was doing it. Mike needed a good memory to help him out. That had been one of the few times anyone had actually taken the time to help him through any sort of panic. Riley had been the last one, and the guy had more been a presence that was around while he stopped panicking. Everyone else told him to stop being a wuss. Including his family. A downside of being related to a bunch of military. Nothing was worse than what they dealt with and what he experienced was insignificant.

_ You need to stop thinking like that, Mike. _

Feeling a tiny bit better due to the memory transfer and his emotions calming at the pseudo person rubbing his back, he realized his pants were still down, and struggled to bend enough and try. There wasn't enough room in the box and he had to stop after hitting the sides several times. _This is fucking uncomfortable._ Hopefully, there wouldn't be splinters getting into his bare ass. There hadn't been any in his back, which was relieving because that would mean he would have to ask Carroll for help. His ass would be embarrassing and he wouldn't put it pass him to do something else while he had his hands down there. _Not after tonight._

_Three months, Ryan. Three months and you haven't figured it out, you haven't showed up. Do you even care? Do you even know that I'm gone or are you so still far into the bottle that it doesn't matter? God, Ryan. What was I to you, just an annoyance that you put up with? Someone to help you catch him without having to deal with FBI politics?_

_ If that was all, Mike, then I wouldn't have called you when I was so drunk I needed a ride. I wouldn't have called you when I was dealing with Debra's death and needed a drinking buddy. _

Mike, exhausted from the emotional and physical upheaval, finally succumbed to sleep with the Ryan in his head talking him into believing there was hope in the future to be rescued.


	5. Chapter Five - Parts Nine and Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for psychological torture and disassociation.

Joe's POV, after the third anniversary

Joe woke up feeling immensely giddy. The remnants of the previous night remained in his blood, and in his memory. Before allowing himself to remember the events, and get himself aroused again, he got out of bed and started morning routines. He had the stove ready for breakfast before opening the box with Agent Weston inside. He was a little surprised at the gag not being in, but since he hadn't been screaming during the night, it was ignored until needed again. Lifting him up, he guided him out and to the bathroom. After that was done, he sat him down while getting out the ingredients for French Toast and sausage to have alongside. He even made it special by using some berries on top of a couple of pieces before placing the two loaded plates down.

He worked through it with gusto, Michael taking a bit more time to eat his. The red eyes hadn't gone completely away. After the two were done, he immediately did the dishes before settling down for a bout of television. The collar made it easy to keep him close as they watched more articles about the case and his disappearance. “Still no Ryan,” he commented. Ryan was more of an action than words man, but he hadn't heard anything new on him. A new follower was keeping back, watching from afar and gave a report every week or so. Secluding himself and drinking a lot. Michael didn't talk and he didn't expect him to respond.

The high of that power lasted for a week. Then, reality kicked in as Judy had a dry spell. This was good for him, as he started having routine intercourse with her. There was no urge to force Agent Weston back into the previous position that he was in. In fact, he went back to his previous actions, slicing a section of his arm when he was slightly buzzed and annoyed at a reporters take on him. His victim was incredibly calm about the wound, just a bit of pain shown on his face. He thought the young man even looked a little relieved. It wasn't the best reaction to his attack, galling him a small bit. He wasn't fearful, or afraid of what he was doing anymore. It riled him a bit.

With Judy not pulling in as much as she needed to, the three lessened their consumption of things. Joe had a stash of money, built up from his little bit of writing money. His book had sold after he had gone to jail, due to the infamy around himself. Claire didn't want anything to do with it, so instead it went to expenses. He used that so they didn't have to feed him that week. He only fed Michael once a day, enough to keep him going but not anything more. He had to refrain from injuring him too badly. Mostly gripping him enough to create bruises on his skin and holding him down, choking him until he almost went limp.

Psychological torture wasn't one of his usual methods. The physical effects that he had on his victims were enough. But, with Michael getting used to his physical attacks, he needed to do something to get his victim back into a state of slight terror. _What I do will not last. I do the same thing over and over, he becomes conditioned, complacent. He knows what's going to happen, and that allows him the ability to withdraw from the situation. What I need is to keep him constantly afraid of what I do._ He was going to have to change. The psychological section of his repertoire was horribly low. Normally, the girls he attacked were already frightened, the others he had needed just a quick attack to end them. Making someone afraid of him was novel. He hadn't needed it before.

Combing his head for ideas, he settled on something that might work for the situation. He had read about other serial killers. Those that held their victims, gaining the most amount of terror out of them and 'feeding' off of it. They loved talking about what they did, describing it in great detail. There were ways that he couldn't accomplish, complete houses with cells and torture rooms. Joe couldn't just physically threaten Weston, the agent was used to it due to his situation. He was starting to be able to tell how badly his session was going to be, mentally prepare. _Something to throw him off, and keep him thrown off._

His words might do something. His actions might work better at the moment.

-

It was a calm day, about three weeks after. Judy was having a regular over, the dry spell not entirely broken yet. Mandy had gone on a walk. That left Joe with his little victim. Michael was watching the TV with him, eyes glazed over a bit. The leather collar was resting. He enjoyed tugging on it, making him follow where he led. At one point, he still wanted to get the lead out. However, it was too much of a small space to really do anything with it.

The chain, he could.

Getting it out of the bedroom when he awoke, it was left while he made breakfast for himself. When he was done, he gave a small amount of food to Michael. After that, he took off the leather collar. He saw a few things that made him remember about washing the leather cuffs after being in use for long periods of time. Thinking of ways to take advantage of that, he also got the handcuffs and ankle cuffs to use. Seated, he used the usual warning before switching the leather on his ankles, then on his hands. There was no try to escape. He wouldn't be able to run with the metal cuffs. The leather came off and he almost had a smile on his face to be rid of the collar.

He then wrapped the chain around his neck. And demonstrated it by yanking on it. Michael tumbled to the ground, unable to stop himself with his now closely tied hands and legs. Joe smiled darkly, pulling on the chain to make him get to his knees. The slight happiness that he had from being free of the leather disappeared when this one went on. Then, he was angry when being pulled around. Now, being led up, almost to the point of choking but not quite there, he was staring at Joe, the anger still simmering along with a small, tiny speck of fear. _Finally. He must be reacting to the air problem._ Joe could work with that. It was something to build up.

_I'll have to find a way to keep him in place to do that._ It would be something to look into, as this was a good idea to possibly repeat. Keep him out of the way while he did things. The coffin was better for nights. _That, and there could be some fun to play with having him unable to move away._ Instead, the only thing he could manage at the moment was holding him in place until either he let him down or Michael figured out that standing wouldn't have as many problems on his throat.

“Now, are you going to be a problem while I accomplish some needed cleaning?” he inquired, keeping the pressure up. His victim wasn't answering. He entertained that it might be because of the lack of oxygen and inability to move, but that's never stopped him before. Joe needed an area to place him. _I'm going to have to outfit the trailer with areas to keep him down._ A mental list built up in his head, directions and items needed.

Knowing that Michael wouldn't fight, at least, not while he was nearby, he managed to wrap the chain around the refrigerator handles. If he were to try something, it wouldn't keep him long, but this was mainly so he could clean the other cuffs. _Psychological._ He didn't have any sexual toys. That would be his next purchases when Judy and Mandy managed to get to a stable level of income. 

Cleaning the leather, it had to air dry for a while. He decided on something that would invoke the terror he had created before. Unwrapping the chain, he forced Michael to crawl on his hands and knees to get over to the bed. “On the bed,” he ordered.

“No,” Michael denied, taking the chain and trying to yank it out of his hands. He wrapped it twice around his and pulled him up, cutting down his air before managing to throw him on the bed. Taking off his shirt, he made him believe he was getting undressed, but only went down to his skivvies before climbing on top of him. After hovering, his hands and knees keeping him up to move Michael flatter. In this case, he landed on his stomach, making things much easier for him. Hand still wrapped with the chain, he pressed himself down on him.

The younger man had lost some muscle definition from living with him for the last few months. He had always been smaller in height, but now with Joe helping the girls in the house and around the town, he had attained a 'worker's' physique that he didn't really work up in prison. He was larger than the agent, and used it to his advantage.

At first, Michael kept still. He could ignore it, closing his eyes and imagining a different scenario. Joe put up with it for a while. Within a few minutes, he became slightly bored and started tightening the collar again. Little by little, until he was just beginning to struggle. Then, he released the pressure. There was a tiny cough before he settled down. After a period, he started again. This time, he held the chain for a few more minutes, enjoying the struggling. His body aroused from the friction and movement under him. He moaned, his cock hardening and filling out.

Michael did not like it. Perhaps as a reminder of what happened a few weeks before. “Get off of me,” he gasped, not enough air for him to talk well enough. He tried throwing back an elbow and use his weight to force him off. It almost worked, until Joe pulled on the chain to still him. He hadn't planned on this becoming sexual, and it wasn't.

Repeating psychological to himself, Joe took the first thing he could use as a gag, a pair of socks, and stuffed it about an inch in his mouth. “Shut up,” he hissed. His other hand grabbed his hair, yanking on it for pain. He was pressing down again, his erection trapped and against his victim's ass. The chain was biting into his hand and Michael's neck. His anger dissipated bit by bit, the body under him not fighting anymore. Finally, something going 'right'. Then, he was ecstatic as he started paying attention. Michael was shaking, and he checked closely to see tears coming out of pressed shut eyes.

He chuckled, warmhearted yet mocking at the same time. “Shh,” he 'soothed', his hold on the hair turning to running his fingers through it. His victim wasn't calming down, but he wasn't hyperventilating as he was before. Joe wanted to check on the leather. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to leave it to air dry. He moved his mouth over to Michael's ear and whispered, “I need to check on the other cuffs. I want you to not move, too much at least. Don't take out the gag, don't hide the chain.” He lifted himself up and put on trousers, the erection he had starting to deflate without the stimulation before he went out to the main area.

The leather had little stains from the water. He wiped it off before drying it. All were clean, and it would be best to put them back on, as it kept him contained but easier to maneuver. He noticed his hands were red from the chain and squeezed it closed twice before seeing that it wasn't a major problem for him. For Agent Weston, it would be. He grabbed cleaning and bandaging supplies before walking back. The agent was in the same position, slightly curled up more. Guiding him up by the shoulder, he undid the chain to find multiple little welts, some of which had bled. He focused on cleaning the areas that metal had cut into his skin, wrapping most of the areas with gauze. His collar went on slightly tight, but the cuffs wouldn't fit with the extra padding, not if he didn't want the agent to escape. Instead, he went with the chain, fitting it over the gauze and locking it with padlocks. The keys were in a high enough area that he wouldn't be able to grab them.

The final thing was the socks in his mouth, which he rubbed his jaw to get them to release, seeing saliva and impressions from where he had bit down on instinct. Those went in the laundry. “Good boy,” he cooed, seeing as he listened to the directions a step in a good direction for him. Michael glared at him before he flinched at him combing through his hair again.

~-~-~-Mike's POV, up to fourth anniversary

A part of Mike knew that he shouldn't use a good memory to forget the situation. It would taint the memory, and if he thought of it in the future, then the actual memory of the event, which he would always remember ~~no matter how badly he wanted to forget~~ would come up along side and replace the good emotions. When Carroll had ra- ra- sexually assaulted him, he kept his mind clear as best as he could. Focusing on the act, trying to over-analyze it. It was hard, horrible, but it kept his memories clean. 

His mind, however, wanted him to retreat, ignore the surroundings. The last few weeks had been tense. Mike figured out after a while that J- Carroll was getting sexual relief from the woman next door, who wasn't receiving as many customers as she normally was. So, he didn't have to use him. Even with that thought, he kept thinking that the man would, would do it again. Once was enough, was too much. He didn't want to go through this again.

When the man dragged him to bed again, he thought the worse and started retreating into his mind to keep from experiencing again. Then, when the man just laid on him, he was confused. Being confused meant instead of clearing his head, it came up with a familiar memory.

_It had been a long few days on the road and Mike just wanted to get into his own bed. Not even to sleep, just to lay in. He dropped his laptop bag on the coffee table and worked up to the bedroom. His duffel got kicked over to the laundry hamper before he plopped on his bed. He groaned happily. Motel beds sucked, itchy sheets and rough mattresses._

_Someone climbed in after him, legs threading around his and an arm wrapping around his chest. He chuckled, being slightly tickled by the brush of fingers. “Jeremy,” he grinned, looking behind him._

_“Hey, Mike,” the slightly younger man murmured, “First thing you do is take a nap?”_

_“Hotel beds, Jer, hotel beds,” he repeated, trying to curl up. “I hate those things.” The other man was perfectly content to lay with him, being his big spoon for a little while. After a few minutes, he felt like he was being choked. Mike wasn't wearing a tie, and his hands came up to try and figure out what was-_

The chain was cutting into his throat, barely allowing him any oxygen. Struggling to make him lose his grip or get a better position to breath, Carroll let it go. He coughed when he breathed too deeply without preparing himself. Without anything else going on, Jeremy came back to his mind.

_Jeremy nuzzled the back of his neck. The two had fallen asleep while they were on the bed, and night had fallen. It was clear that night, giving him a good view of the moon and stars. A part of him started pining for the sky, which was weird because he had seen a good amount of it going to the hotel late during the case._

_While Mike was staring at the sky, and thinking about the things he needed to do, like clean up and eat, he started feeling the tightening around his throat again. 'What the hell is going on? I don't have asthma, nothing to make my throat tighten up.'_

_ That's because you're not at home with Jeremy. _

The present broke through to his conscious. Joe was choking him again, and not letting up. Mike needed air, and he started moving to get the chain loosened. His movement caused a reaction out of the body above him. Carroll was aroused, and moaned heavily to prove. _No, no, not again, not again notagain._ “Get off of me,” he demanded, using his last good breath to get it out. He threw back an elbow and almost got something before he pulled on the chain to make him stop. Unable to fight without air, he only stilled then.

The socks in his mouth were horrible, but they were clean ones. The hair pulling made him groan in pain, and his jaw clenched in pain. Carroll then forced him down again. He wasn't able to move, his erection against him. His eyes pressed shut and leaking tears, Mike actually waited for him to attempt something. _Not again, not again._ It's what he expected. He thought the man was going to r-, r-. _Damn it, why can't I think of a goddamn single word?_

Instead, the hand in his hair relaxed and carded through it. Again, he was confused. J-, Carroll ordered him to stay still, and he got off of him. _What? No, no no no. The man was aroused. His intention felt as if he was going to assault me again. He didn't. Wha-?_ He curled a little, face still planted in the pillow. Not paying attention, he was surprised when the man brought him to a seated position. He didn't fight when the wounds were taken care of, or when the restraints went back on. He faintly noted that it was chains around his wrists, not the cuffs. The socks were soggy. “Good boy,” he mocked. Mike glared at him. The collar was enough of a puppy analogy, he didn't need something else adding to it. He flinched when the man carded through his hair, the pulls happening a few seconds earlier. This touch was softer, and he innately calmed with the strokes.

That night was unusually calm. Joe watched something while holding a loop from a collar. Mike had his legs up close to his body, the chain not giving him a lot of room. Every time he thought about resting, maybe sleeping, Carroll pulled on the collar to force him awake. Annoyed, he stared at the floor instead of the TV. His brain, trying to come up with something to think about, decided to point out his non-consistent labeling of the man keeping him captive. _I jumped between Joe and Carroll._

_ It's not that surprising, Mike. _

And Ryan's voice was back. But then, he was the greatest expert on Carroll. Figuring him out and dealing with him the first time. He usually called him Joe. Mike took that as a sign that he had gotten too involved, that he saw the man as a personal enemy. He was, but it went deeper than that. 

_ I'm ignoring you on that. You figured it out earlier. The beginnings of Stockholm Syndrome, where the person aligns his or her self to their captor in hopes of keeping themselves alive and unharmed. Carroll makes him the enemy, Joe makes him a possible friend. Someone you can, well, not cozy up to, but accept, see as 'safe'. You're separating him into them. _

_I'm not meaning to._

_ I know that, Mike. Your mind's under a lot of stress from your treatment and his change in methodology. You're starting to have a baseline of fear always coursing through you. You're scared he's going to rape you again, you're scared about what's he's pulling. It's fine to be scared in this situation. It's, it's rational and a safety measure to try and keep yourself alive. _

_No, it's not. It's weakness. Dad and my brothers would be berating me for the screw ups, for failing to get myself out. For being afraid-_

_ They were never in the same situation that you were, Mike. I'm just the voice in your head and I have to remind you of that. Everyone reacts differently. You were taught this. There are people that become hysterical and those that brush it off with a little jumpiness. _

His further conversation was halted when J- Carroll picked him up and settled him in the box before covering it and locking it. That voice of Ryan didn't come back and he had to fall asleep to his own mind's broken thought trails.

-

The day of the fourth anniversary started regularly. Cloudy day, hints of rain. A small breakfast was served. His facial hair was shaved again, then the gag was placed back in. Mike was confused when he was laid down on the floor stomach side down instead of face up. It trapped his hands, as if he would be able to fight back. What started worrying him was the presence of a plastic bag. What he planned was going to create a mess. Blood wasn't an issue. Usually. 

He groaned, then gritted his teeth at the first cuts that formed. His back hadn't been touched since the burns he inflicted a while. It was still unused to the abuse the rest of his body had been put through. It didn't feel random, not as if Carroll was just using him for stress relief. This was methodical. He just couldn't tell what the man was doing. After what he thought was the completion, the man silently ordered him to stay down while he got something else. Feeling blood run down his back, he wondered if the man was going to clean and cover his wounds like normal. _It's sad that I think of this as normal._

When he didn't come back, it wasn't with antibiotics. Instead, a stream of cold water that spiked the nerves on his wounds tickled down. He gasped, from the cold first, then the pain that was coming from it. If it was alcohol, then it would have just burned immediately. _Cold... Salt water?_ Whatever he had done, he wanted it permanent. _That doesn't bode well for me._ He would be doing something every day to make sure the scarring stayed.

Mike knew about decorative scarring. He's seen a few of the things people have done. Joe likely wasn't fancy. _Carroll likely wasn't fancy._ He tended to favor words. Even if he couldn't write a story well, he could create a story. Catch people with words. He was more suited for speaking than writing. _Thank whoever was controlling this thing that he never discovered that ability._ So, what must have been carved onto his back was a word. Maybe more than one, he couldn't really tell. _Marking, branding._ He started feeling sick at the idea that there would always be a part of Carroll's work on him. Sometimes, scars couldn't be erased.

He kept down any nausea, breathing to keep steady while Carroll cleaned up around him and relieved him of the gag. His back stung with leftover salt. The plastic bag had rivets of blood and water mixture that Joe carefully wrapped up and moved to the bathroom for easier cleaning. He didn't move. If the man wanted him someplace else, he would have to do it himself. Of course, that meant the man traced along the new pattern, pressing down on areas that made him wince in additional pain. The rest of the night went quietly, and the box was outfitted with a blanket that cushioned Mike's side as he switched when the lid closed on him.

The next morning started with a new part to the routine. Opening the back wounds, cleaning it thoroughly and making sure it wouldn't become infected while making sure it scarred. Old areas of concern were also taken care of. His wrists were healed, a couple of light lines from the chains still there. Breakfast was light, oatmeal. Either the woman that had been losing customers, or Carroll didn't want him nauseated. He figured on the later when the man went over to their house. Usually, without customers, he would satisfy both of their needs.

He hadn't really paid attention to the new fixture, but today was the day Carroll decided to test how strong his little home was. A large, hefty eye bolt had been secured just below the ceiling on the wall behind the bed. A shorter chain, padlocked at the back of his neck and the bolt, kept him from moving off the bed. Or far away from the wall, for that matter. To keep him from trying to pick the lock, his hands had been rebound behind his back. And the gag had been re-added back to the situation.

There was only a little wait before he started to try breaking it off. Three seconds after stretching it taunt and trying to use his body weight, the collar started choking him off. That wasn't going to work. Dropping, he tried moving the collar so it would have the link at the front. Then, he would plant his feet on the wall and push.

His plans were interrupted by the front door opening. Joe- Carroll didn't show up for a few hours after they had sex. Something was going on. He backed up against the wall, ready for an angry Carroll. Instead, he barely saw a young woman walking around, grabbing some snacks from a cardboard. _The woman has a daughter?_ He doesn't know why he's surprised. Leave it to Joe to pick a single mother with a child that could use a father figure in their life. He wondered what the child actually knew about the situation.

The young woman hadn't noticed him the first time, but she did when noticing the strange person in the other room. Walking closer, Mike stayed still, up against the wall. “Oh,” she said, puzzled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original note to the second part. _Um, oops. To be fair, if you recognize the name of Mike's boyfriend and get the pairing name, you'll understand one of the fandoms that I've gotten into during the last few months. New shows, new ideas, and this canceled one. Not very productive to finishing stories._

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt.
> 
> **_Mike/Joe – torture, possible stockholm, possible non/dubcon_ **
> 
> Ryan made sure the chat in the bar was the only time he saw or heard from Mike. When the Subway Massacre happens he thinks it'll be hard to avoid him, but to his surprise Mike isn't there. It turns out that bar chat was one of the last times anyone saw Mike before there was a repeat of his previous kidnapping. No body was ever found but after so long everyone believes he's dead. Ryan had been so busy being drunk at the time and later avoiding anything with Mike's name on it that this is the first he's hearing about it.
> 
> As it happens whoever did the kidnapping took Mike straight to Joe (or maybe was Joe himself) as a final 'fuck you' to Ryan, not realising the man would never even notice. Mike has spent nearly a year being the only outlet for Joe's stress and impulses while he refrains from killing (fillers choice whether Mandy and/or her mother know Mike is there or if Joe keeps him secret).
> 
> Bonus for Mike stockholming.   
> Double bonus for possessive!Joe coming to view Mike as 'his'.


End file.
